


What It Means To Be

by BrenanaBread



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: AU, F/M, Fluff, LadyNoir - Freeform, au in which adrien never went to school, brief adrinette at end, but it's like really light, fluff and encouragement !!!! because babe we all need some fluff and encouragement, mostly fluff but also some angst because honestly i dont know how to not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 09:42:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28469211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrenanaBread/pseuds/BrenanaBread
Summary: When Ladybug and Chat Noir meet, they're two halves of a whole. It's all too easy for them to fall in love, even when secrets separate them.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 20
Kudos: 77





	What It Means To Be

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EnberLight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnberLight/gifts).



> Hello EnberLight, I'm your Tumblr Secret Santa!!! It was such an honor to write something for you and it was so fun and neat that you had me as well! T'was meant to be <3   
> You're such a sweet and encouraging person, I wanted to give you some sweet and encouraging Ladynoir right back :) I hope you enjoy and have an amazing end of the year!

The first time Ladybug meets Chat Noir, she’s upside down, head-over-heels. 

He’s dramatic and carefree, with laughter that rises like mountains and a smile that warms glaciers. He’s made of sunlight and bubbling champagne and soft moss—as green as his eyes. She wants to trace the lines on his face, so deeply beautiful, but fresh. Like he isn’t used to feeling emotions, but has thrown himself so whole-heartedly into them, his skin can’t help but savor the new positions, line them into his soul.

At first, they only meet when necessary. Paris is terrorized by some wronged designer or teacher or plant-lover or retail worker and they spin through traffic-laden streets, vaulting over buildings and flying through crowds. She crashes into him and he catches her, always. He freefalls off a building and she flings herself off beside him, ready to tether them back to Earth. 

They add patrols. Nighttime walks through their city, savoring the lights and the sounds of camaraderie and the late-night ice cream. They race over rooftops, spar under a bright, full moon, and stretch each moment into infinity. It’s under the pretense of protection, and they do what they can, but it too easily grows into something softer, something sweeter. It becomes heads resting on shoulders and hands clasped tightly together. Whispered jokes and assurances and falling asleep under pink-hued clouds. Waking up with startled gasps and nervous laughter and dew-dusted noses. 

He’s her best friend. And though she’s never asked, she knows she’s his. 

She isn’t sure when it began, but she knows her stomach flutters when she catches his eyes.

It’s subtle at first. She’s embarrassed at the staring—she only wanted to observe the way his nose wiggles when he’s about to sneeze—but too soon she’s staring more and more and she runs out of excuses. And then the fluttering doesn’t leave when they tease each other. It builds up and up and she wonders if she’ll float away.

He feels it too, that all-encompassing  _ rightness _ when they’re together. That he can throw out his hand and know she’ll take it, know she’ll hold on so tight his fingers will hurt and their nails will dig into each other and they’ll scramble to stay tied together as they run over rooftops and duck into alleyways. He knows she’ll point to his left with a raised eyebrow and he’ll know exactly what to do, like she’s speaking directly into his mind. He knows they’ll collapse together after a particularly grueling battle and laugh at the absurdity of it all. He knows that when he smiles at her, she’ll smile right back. He can’t get enough of it.

They stay out later and later each night. She has homework and projects and she’ll spend the next morning in the bakery (so early she may as well stay awake the whole night). He has piano to practice and deadlines to meet and empty walls to greet him when he finally stumbles into his room at 3am. But they don’t care. They pretend not to notice the trend, pretend they’re not holding in yawns and prying their eyes open for just five minutes more, but they both know what’s happening. 

When Chat Noir first confesses his feelings, it’s a wildfire and a hurricane. The words tumble out, jumbled and confusing, sentences flipped and voice cracking. They’re filled with so much passion and warmth—he practically glows with sincerity—that it doesn’t matter if he speaks too quickly for her to parse his sentences, if his hands whirl wildly between them and almost hit her for standing too close. She understands him anyway. 

“Have you ever seen a black swan?” she asks, looking at him so sincerely his heart melts.

“Why?”

She shakes her head, backing away from him. “It’s stupid.”

“Please?” his eyes are wide and his lower lip pointed in a pout and she can’t resist him.

“It’s just—I never thought I’d feel this way about someone,” she curls a piece of hair behind her ear, shuffling side-to-side, “because I never  _ had  _ felt this way about someone before. I thought I knew what kind of emotions I was capable of experiencing—I thought I knew  _ everything _ —but I was wrong.” She looks at him, biting her lower lip and readying herself to continue. “I never could have predicted you,  _ chaton _ . I never could have predicted loving you.”

He melts into her arms and they spend all night wrapped in each other. Not a single kiss is shared, but much more passes between their lips. Promises and assurances and declarations coat their mouths and they’re blanketed in the warmth of being  _ seen _ . They’d never felt so whole.

The next time they meet, they’re timid. Awkward around each other, neither certain of how they should act. Chat Noir keeps his distance, hoping Ladybug will bridge the divide, but all she can think about is curling around him once again, his head tucked under her chin and breath fanning against her collarbone.

When they’re fighting side-by-side, they’re two halves of a whole. Meant to work together, motions in step like they’re one being. They don’t need to look at each other to know their next step, don’t need to speak to form a plan, and after freeing the next akuma victim, they gravitate towards each other once again, ending the night hand-in-hand with bright pink blushes and shivers under the moonlight.

“Where do we go from here?” Chat Noir asks, his lips hovering just over the palm of her hand. She’s relaxed in his lap, content to spend all night together and suffer the consequences at school the next morning, legs draped over his own and bodies molded together.

“We’re going somewhere?”

He nips at the fleshy part of her thumb. “You know what I mean.”

“How could I want to go anywhere when I’m so comfortable here.” She stretches exaggeratedly, settling against him so her face is tucked into the crook of his neck and her nose can trace along his jaw if she moves just so.

“I’m serious,” he says but it’s undercut by his warm laughter and the way he lifts his shoulder to press her further into him. “We’re something, right?”

“I think the whole world would call us something,” she teases. “Heroes, guardians, celebrities—”

He huffs. “You and I are something  _ together _ .”

“Of course, we’re the most perfect partners there ever was.”

“Do you want me to withhold kisses? Because I can withhold kisses.”

Ladybug’s laughter is light as air “Oh wow, someone thinks he’s  _ so _ irresistible.”

“Are you saying I’m not?” His lips press against each of her fingers individually before trailing down the side of her hand to her wrist and along her forearm.

“That tickles!” she squirms, twisting her body so she can face him properly but never pulling herself away from him.

“How did I not know you were ticklish?”

Her smile is smug and teasing. “Looks like I’ve still got some mysteries left.”

“Well that just won’t do, I want to know everything.”

“Everything?”

“All of it!”

There’s an unspoken understanding that it can’t be all of it, that there are some lines they can’t yet cross, but it fills her stomach with butterflies anyway. “That’s...that’s a lot.”

“I’ve got all night. And then all the other nights.”

She smiles at him, settling her shoulders against his chest again, kissing the back of his hand before tangling their fingers together and letting them rest on her thigh.

“Then we’ll share everything.”

* * *

The next night as they’re eating a feast of pastries and treats on a worn, checkered blanket, Ladybug throws a crumb at Chat Noir’s nose.

“What was that for?” he asks, throwing it right back at her.

“Have you ever had anything besides snot come out of your nose?”

“You mean like have I ever gotten a nosebleed?”

“Hmm,” she taps a gloved finger to her lower lip in contemplation. “No—have you ever had anything besides your own bodily fluids come out of your nose?”

“First of all, gross. What kind of question is that?”

“An important one,” she insists.

“No! Of course I haven’t.”

“‘Of course’? Sounds like you haven’t lived.”

“What are you doing to have other things come out of your nose!”

“When I was seven, my best friend made me laugh so hard milk came out of my nose.”

He dramatically gags, dropping the pain au chocolat he was one bite away from finishing. “That’s disgusting.”

She shrugs. “No more so than anything else seven year olds do.”

“What kinds of things were you doing at seven years old?”

“Playing in dirt, scraping my knees, forgetting candy in my pocket until it became a sticky mess,” she lists them off on her fingers, ignoring the scandalized gasps from Chat Noir. “Normal childhood things.”

“I was a lot less...active as a child.”

“So tell me about it.”

“Tell you about my childhood?”

She nods.

“Doesn’t that seem—I don’t know, a bit weird?”

“I’m getting to know you.” She smiles, scooting forward so their knees touch. “We’re learning everything, remember? I want to know whatever you’re willing to share.”

He swallows though there’s nothing in his throat. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

He tells her.

* * *

Weeks later, they’ve established a game:

_ Just like childhood _

Ladybug asks Chat Noir if he’s done something when he was young, and if he hasn’t, they do it.

Some of it is easy—Ladybug will never forget how silly it felt to braid little pieces of his hair, giving him colorful bows and poorly painted nails while he put far too much rouge on her cheeks and painted her lips a shade of red that looked just as good on her as its remnants did on him. She reads her favorite childhood books to him until he falls asleep and he shows her how he used to climb trees without getting dirty. 

Some require a bit more imagination. Ladybug brings all the ingredients to make cookies outside of a kitchen, but without access to an oven, they can only eat the cookies she’d made the night before.

And some only exist in the fantasy world they create together—those moments in which the world seems small and their possibilities endless, they paint pictures of birthday parties and family holidays, school plays and tests, they tell stories and share memories until they’ve re-lived them all together.

Each time she’s confronted with all the experiences he’s been denied, all the support and love he’s missed, her heart aches. But the way he smiles at her, the way his eyes light up at every little story they can now share, makes her swell with affection and pride.

It makes her wish, too.

* * *

“Sometimes, I really hate this.” Ladybug tries to stop her body from shaking, but the shivers don’t stop. Her eyes are clogged with tears, face red and puffy as her nose buries into his chest.

“I know,” he soothes, hand running down her back in a predictable rhythm.

“They hate me.”

“They don’t hate you.”

“Well, they should.” She presses her face into him further, like she could hide inside of him. “All I do is  _ lie _ to them. I’m the worst daughter they could ever have.”

“You are an  _ amazing _ daughter, Ladybug.” His cheek rests on the top of her head so she can feel his words as they come out of his mouth. “They love you.”

“You don’t know that!” She sniffles against his suit, silently apologizing for the wet spot she knows she’s leaving. “They’re so mad. They’re so upset.”

“They don’t have all the facts.”

She cries harder. “And whose fault is that!”

He takes her shoulders, pulling her far enough away that he can look into her eyes. “Hey. Not you. This isn’t your fault.”

“I’m the one who’s lying.”

His fingers squeeze her, thumbs rubbing against the edges of her collarbone. “You wouldn’t if you had any other choice.”

“There’s always a choice.”

“You’re trying to keep them safe. You’re doing the right thing.”

“Is it right?” she asks, taking one of his hands off her shoulder and clasping it between both of hers. “Or is it just easy?”

“You and I both know this is anything but easy. Ladybug, look at me,” he pleads. “You love your parents. You would do anything for them.”

“Do anything but be honest with them. I hate it. I hate lying to them.”

His voice cracks, like the sincerity is chipping away at him too. “You’re a good person.” 

“How would you know that? I’m lying to you too. I’m lying to everyone.”

“I know that because you care so much. A worse person wouldn’t care they were lying, they wouldn’t care whether or not they were a good person. They wouldn’t give up their life to save the world. They wouldn’t care about making their dumb partner smile.”

“You’re not dumb.”

“I don’t know, I  _ did _ once ask you what kind of soap I was supposed to use when washing vegetables.”

It doesn’t make her laugh, but the upward flick of her lips is victory enough, however small it is.

“My lady,” he rests a hand on her chin, lightly stroking the soft skin of her cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

The tears dry against her skin, salty paths running down to her neck and disappearing once they reach her suit. Her breaths stop catching, finally evening out as her temperature lowers with the night breeze.

“I just hate this sometimes.”

“I know. I’m sorry you have to go through this.”

“You have to, too.”

He shakes his head. “So long as I play my part, no one is paying attention to me. It’s not lying if no one thinks to ask.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

She pushes him lightly. “Then you don’t get to be for me either.”

“Okay.” He pulls her into a loose embrace. “No sorries. Just hugs.”

“Maybe a kiss too?”

He kisses her forehead, letting his lips linger as he says, “Always.”

* * *

Their masks finally fall on a spring evening. It’s warm relief, skin buzzing like they’ve been electrified, the pure satisfaction of being complete. They’re lying next to each other, legs twisted together, breaths shared between them.

It’s after they’ve learned everything—the history of every scar, every favorite book and song and moment, every belief and dream and fear, every silly tangle of thoughts pulled free—with each memory surfaced and secret unearthed, they can finally  _ know _ .

“Adrien,” she repeats his name, tasting it on her tongue. “I like it. It suits you.”

“And you are?” His eyes are so green and bright and wide, like he’s soaking in every bit of her, memorizing the moment.

“Marinette.”

He smiles.

“It’s beautiful.”

The first time Marinette meets Adrien, they’re side-by-side, head-over-heels. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr @jattendschaton


End file.
